Tower of Power and Cats on Diets

What on earth could Tower of Power have anything to do with a fat cat on a diet?  Lemme s'plain y'all.

Last night was the opening night for the SonoMarin Fair.  Tower of Power has been a band staple for a long, long time and going to see them play is groovy fun.  Gee, me drawn so a funk soul band out of Oakland?  Go figure;)  There is a tradition with some of my friends to meet up at the fair to eat, drink, and get down with Tower of Power.  Last night was no exception.  Yes, there were lots of white people dancing so I did not feel out of place.

Corn dogs, beer, and bad wine are another staple at the fair.  I imbibed, and it was a bad decision on soooooo many levels as I don't eat corn dogs and drink bad wine but once a year (good wine, however, is another story).  

This is where the part about cats on diets come in.  My cat is quite the big boy and has an appetite.  He's starting to get up there in age and he can't run and jump like he used to.  Part of the problem is his age and the other part is that, well, he's just plain FAT.  His weight gain was starting to concern me as he no longer jumps into my lap but has to exert a struggling clawing, crawling motion to get to my lap.  We can only blame age for just so much.  With that I studied my cat's food intake, activity, and age and figured that he needed his food modified or he will get kitty diabetes and urinary tract issues.  Long story short, I put my cat on a diet.

My cat is PISSED and is not shy about expressing his unhappiness with me.

Last night was Tower of Power with bad wine and junk food overload coupled with staying out much later than normal.  This morning at crack of dawn I had a pissed off cat storming my bed, crawling on me, meowing, pawing my face as if to say, GET OUT OF BED, BETCH, and FEED ME!!!

I really could of used extra sleep this morning. 

All Fur Coat and No Knickers

All fur coat and no knickers.  The first time I heard this phrase was from my English friend, CG.  It hit me like a bolt of lightening as I've never heard of so much truth packed into such a short sentence.  People who put on airs of material wealth are usually those with the least of it. 

Last night was the tale of financial woes.  The irony of it was that the tale of financial woes is housed in luxury to those who don't know the circumstances.  There were two scenarios with two different families going on at the party I was at.

Scenario #1:  House on the hill with fantastic views that is always under construction with the addition of another room or something of the sort.  Wife is also always under construction and has boob jobs and plastic surgery. I think wife has BOGO specials with the local surgeon.  Always hosting catered parties with live music trying to impress.  Husband is freaking and sweating as he is one client away from losing his cash flow and the house.  He is self-employed and has zero saved for retirement (he is in his mid 50's).  Oh, and they have a daughter getting married this year.  ....  but damn they look good to outsiders.

Scenario #2:  Guy (age 50 and divorced) who resembles an Oompa Loompa likes first generation American Asian women half his age.  His daughter does not want a "sister" for a mother-in-law.  Asian woman gets her claws into Oompa Loompa thinking that because he owns a business and houses in Bodega Bay and Sausalito that she has hit the jackpot.  Against warnings from family and friends, they sneak off to Vegas and get married (no prenup).  Daughter is shattered.  This is where karma is a bitch.  Guy's business is teetering on bankruptcy and houses are completely leveraged to keep struggling business afloat.  Asian woman married debt and bankruptcy with visions of just the opposite.  .... but damn... they look good to outsiders and Oompa Loompa has a pretty young thang on his arm.    I predict she will become pregnant before she figures out she married an old fart who is flat broke.  Oh well.  They deserve each other. 

Moral of the story?  It's amazing what people freely talk about at parties.  I don't do a lot of talking.  I already know about myself and I'm certain I'm a bore to others, where others think themselves charming and interesting.  That's fine with me.  I never learn anything new when I do the talking anyway.

Social Pruning

I'm a nice person, really I am.  It takes more than one faux pas for me to want to smack the living shit out of you and wonder where in the hell your parents went wrong in raising such a tactless moron. 

Heavy sigh.  We try.  We try to gently direct those with lesser social graces to recognizing their own short comings and hope and pray for auto correctness with false hopes that those subtle cues and under eye brow glares from friends and acquaintances are enough to prompt you to modify your own behavior without any more intervention on our part. 

The sad truth is that nobody ever thinks they are the asshole. When called on their own shit they look at you like how DARE you question them on rude behavior.  Yes, your feces does stink. 

Sitting home ALONE on a Saturday night against your will?  Is your dance card not filled?  Chances are you're just an asshole nobody really wants around.  Everybody has figured it out -- except YOU.  Duh. 

Anyway, tonight I just trimmed my social tree a few branches by my own volition.  Bad energy is bad energy no matter how fancy it's packaged and sold. 

Butt, WHAT did you ask?

Today at class a bunch of us ladies were just yakking like we usually do before it starts.  We have a pretty good rapport going on and everybody has a good sense of humor.  One of the regulars brought her sister from Los Angeles to class today. 

Perhaps Southern California culture allows for plastic surgery/beauty parlor inquiries as a way of initiating small talk with strangers.  She asked me, "Wow, where do you get your nails done and who did your butt?"

Come again?  W-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-t did you just ask me?  Thank goddesses I have a sense of humor and I was not in the mood to unleash my icy, well-deserved wrath on the rude, inconsiderate, and socially inept. 

My hands and nails?  Mine.  I do get them polished, but I can thank my mother's genetics for my nails that grow like weeds.

My butt?  Also mine.  I can thank my paternal grandmother for my generous curves. 

I guess having body parts that were not purchased is an anomaly in Southern CA.  She didn't know what to say when I said I was not manufactured (I kept my tone friendly and light).   I guess having a curvy butt is very *in* right now and it's all the Hollywood fashion rage to have butt implants to the point of looking somewhat borderline freak-ish.  Having junk in your trunk is desirable these days.  The "complimentor" went on to say how the Kardiashians started the trend and it has caught on like wildfire.  Sorry, I don't watch the show.  I don't follow trends,.  I wear what I like and I am who I am -- whether or not happens to be "in"

So was I complimented or insulted?  She obviously noticed my curvy, large butt.  No matter.  I've dealt with bigger social morons and was not out to make an instant enemy.  I give everybody more than one chance.  It's the established pattern that turns me to the person you're sorry you have crossed. 

Another (yawn) Mass Shooting

Yup, another mass shooting.  Let's see.....hmmmmmm... Allow a mentally unstable latent Daesh homosexual on the FBI 'watch list' with a history of domestic violence access to an automatic assault rifle.

WTF??

I'm no expert on anything, but something is very, VERY wrong here. 

The only thing that is NOT wrong here was that he had homosexual tendencies. 

Dance Class Saturday Part III

Dance class Saturday.  Fun.  Today it was even more funner (ha ha ha) than usual.  I've been going for a while and it's pretty much the usuals who show up.  Humans are territorial animals, and we all even have our own spots on the floor and a silent pecking order.

Start the music.  Do the warm up.  Get the blood moving....and then the blood REALLY got moving.  For Reals.

Much to our surprise and delight in walked a very handsome black man to participate in class.  WTF???  If my class isn't white bread central located in the middle of Honkey Estrogen Suburbia, than I don't know what is.  Just WHERE did HE come from?????

This poor guy had no clue he walked into a shark tank and he was the bleeding seal.   First of all, having a man in class is unusual.  Second of all, having a good looking black man with rhythm was enough to send every woman in class into a frenzy.

It's times like these where I *really* miss my African dance partner.  She died back in February.  We would have had a field day tag teaming and playing off each other when this man walked in.  We never even needed to rehearse our joking and humor.  It just came naturally.

I behaved myself and did not do or say anything inappropriate.  It's just not the same as when my African dance partner was around and we could do our little flirty jokes.

The ultimate compliment came after class when I was leaving.  Mr. Mystery yelled across the room, "Hey, you move pretty good....for a white girl."   and flashed a huge smile.  Seems to be a theme;)


Anyway, here's to my late dance partner - she was the pepper in our own little version of Salt -n- Peppa.  I know in spirit she was there today when Mr. Mystery appeared out of nowhere into our dance class.  Knowing her, she would have stormed the music source, put on this song, gave me her mischievous glance across her right shoulder with a wink, and said, "Let's show him a thing or two."

Something Shifted

..after years of bitching about useless things on this blog, therapy, and consuming excessive amounts of wine, something has shifted internally for Quiet Rage.

I don't know if it's age, venting of frustrations, working through things that generally piss me off, numbing frustrations with wine, word vomiting, or a combination thereof, but Quiet Rage has mellowed into Quiet Mildly Annoyed.

Oh no worries, I will still vent things that will hopefully make you laugh, cry and wonder who the crazy bitch is who posts this shit.  It's just that something has really shifted internally and the anger, blame, hurt, victim hood, whatever has subdued considerably.

I'm done blaming people.  I'm done carrying around old hurt.  I'm done blaming my past (including my parents).  I'm done blaming society.  Everybody's life is a bag of issues and it's all complicated and messy.

Be very aware and careful of people and things you allow in your world.  There's a lot of toxic energy out there.  Sometimes the toxic energy is within and WE are the problem (I know you want to go on thinking you're perfect -- you're not).  We can't eliminate it, but we can learn to recognize it, manage it, and work through it.  All you need is a good therapist, a bottle of quality wine, and a bitchy blog;)

...and most important.... a base of REALLY awesome FRIENDS who see you at your best AND worst. 

Post Election: Sacramento

I was supposed to be in Sacramento today for a work meeting.  It got cancelled yesterday afternoon.  Why?  I don't know why for certain, but I think political turmoil and the changing of the guard with elections has something to do with it.  See, the deal that was supposedly a done deal is now up in the air.  Great.  Something that was supposed to be for the general good has now been set back due to some loud-mouthed nay sayers without all the facts.  Unfortunately, they gain momentum much like the anti-vaccination crowd and are counter productive.

That's the downside of the voting masses thinking they are all geniuses based on biased Internet information and Facebook posts.  Most of them have *no* clue what happens behind the scenes to make anything work at all, and have very short memories when it does.

Here's their battle cry:  Throw them all out, the damned career politicians, and get somebody in here who has absolutely NO idea or history of anything!  That will make it all better.

Before you all get your torches and storm the gates spewing hatred for anything to do with the establishment,   just know there are no magic answers or short term solutions for anything.

Election Week

It's election week, people.  Ready or not, here it comes.  My life is going to change this week as I'm guaranteed to be working with somebody different as the election is going to guarantee that.  Just exactly how different is the question.  See, the person I've been dealing with decided not to run for re-election, but be sure as s*** he's behind the scenes trying to orchestrate a specific outcome.

Once a politician, always a politician.

I'm getting too old to want to re-train another newbie who thinks they are going to change the world.  Youthful, inexperienced optimism is just that.  Youthful, inexperienced optimism.  Just ask any aging hippie.  They all thought they were going to change the world, too.

Enough of that.  I don't want to be a constant downer.  I'm just done shoveling against the tide.

I won't rain on anybody's parade and I keep my jaded life experiences that have left me scarred by ultimate betrayals (both personally and professionally) to myself.  I could rival any Game of Thrones character on betrayals and other causes that started out good and then turned sour.  Hey, maybe they will write me into the script and story line;)

Seriously, I now am the Fool on the Hill.  I keep perfectly still and smile and nod.

Office Ghost Part II

I work in a building that is over 135 years old.  The telephone wiring and electrical wiring in the building is all hodge-podge and hamajang.  In fairness, the building was built before electricity and  god only knows how many guys over the last 135 years have tried to make sense of the wiring each adding their own form of logic (not). 

Yesterday my old office needed new wiring and connections.  The service technician was weirded out by my office saying he was sensing something.  He was nervous the entire time and asked a lot of questions about the history of my building.  I thought he was going to ask permission to conduct a seance.  His comments were unusual coming from a big, burly construction-type of guy. 

There's a lot I know about the history and haunting of the building.  One of the ghosts is Mortimer the dead judge.  His chambers are now my office.  He still hangs around and wanders the hallway outside my door.  I guess I've grown accustomed to Mortimer and his presence does not freak me out. 

Nonetheless, I don't let on I know what I know.  I have to be careful what I say to whom.  People should figure it out for themselves if/when they are ready to open their senses beyond the purely physical.  Besides, it was Friday afternoon and this appointment was the only thing between me and my weekend.  Another thing, I don't want curious strangers hanging about wanting to use the space for an episode of ghost hunters or something like that or have it listed somewhere on some website as "cool Sonoma County haunts."  I already have enough trouble parking my car in my own space with the popularity of our area with tourists as of late.